Prisoner, Professor, Werewolf
by Douglas14
Summary: Sequel to Spy, Traitor, Death Eater. They both have been dying slowly over the past 12 years. Soon they will be dying a little more each day as they struggle to find their peace. POA, SBRL, Language, Sex references.
1. You had to do the impossible

**A/N: So here it is, the sequel to Spy, Traitor, Death Eater - I said I'd have it out by the end of the year! I haven't started on the next chapter, but at least this one is up, hopefully now I'll be able to put my mind to the task :)**

**Prisoner, Professor, Werewolf**

**Chapter 1 – You had to do the impossible (Remus POV)**

No matter that the war had been over for 12 years, he stayed in hiding. Stayed in his loneliness, in his self-induced exile. Dumbledore had sent a letter to him 2 years earlier suggesting that he come teach at Hogwarts, his old home. But near 16 years after he left, he feels he could not face seeing the ghosts of his past again.

It was now a month until the term would start for the new school year, and he was yet to answer Dumbledore's eighth letter in 2 years, asking him to take the position of Defence Against The Dark Arts Professor. Ironically his favourite subject when he had been at school.

It would be Full Moon the next night and he felt exhausted, both mentally and physically – his hangover probably didn't help though. But it was so like the old coot to try and convince him when he was practically comatose. What would it take for Albus-bloody-Dumbledore to realise that he _couldn't_ go back? Remus knew well enough that the letters had started to arrive when _Harry_ was meant to go to Hogwarts. He may be an alone and drunken werewolf, but he wasn't stupid!

The pounding in his head felt like he had been stampeded by a herd of angry Hippogriffs, but the taping on the window probably didn't help either. He drags his worthless carcass off his bed and over to his window, stumbling every step. He loves his little cottage, even if it does get too hot in the summer and too cold and drafty in the winter. But it's good for transformations, and he can feed and supply himself well from his little garden and the forest surrounding him. So who was he to complain?

He opens the window to let the small owl in. The owl promptly lands on his wardrobe and sticks its leg out. Remus stumbles over to the owl cursing every step of the way. He opens a draw to pull out a sickle, receiving his Morning Prophet in return. After reading what was on the front page, he threw the paper away as though he'd been burnt and collapsed.

_Oh Gods! Not now, oh please not now! Not ever! I'm finally at peace and now-_

He collects his thoughts and storms away to his shower, Full Moon and hangover forgotten. The manically-laughing face of Sirius Black fills the page.

**Morning Prophet, 1st August 1993**

**As Black as his escape!**

_In a move that has baffled the Ministry, it seems that Sirius Black, 33, has escaped the feared prison of Azkaban, the first to ever do so. Black went missing from his cell last night, after not responding to the presence of his Guards. Black was sighted on land this morning and had promptly disappeared by the time Aurors arrived._

_Black was imprisoned for the killing of 12 Muggles, his school friend Peter Pettigrew (all of whom a finger was ever found.), and for the betrayal of his friends James and Lily Potter's position to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Black was secret keeper to the Potters and betrayed them when he turned to the Death Eaters. The rest is history to us._

_Black left behind his now ex- husband, who went missing shortly after Black's imprisonment, and his estranged parents Walburga and Orion Black, now both deceased. Black also outlived his younger brother Regulus, also a Death Eater, who went missing in 1979 and is now presumed to have been killed in the war, either by his brother or the Dark Lord himself._

_The Minister of Magic told The Daily Prophet "I visited Azkaban a month ago, and I was shocked by how little the Dementors seemed to affect him. He was very polite, mind you, and asked for my copy of the Daily Prophet, saying that he missed the crosswords." The Minister is expected to contact the Muggle Prime Minister any day to warn him of the danger Black poses to both Magical and Muggle society. Any sightings of Black are asked to be reported to the Authorities, or local Muggle police._


	2. Freedom

**A/N: Yes I know! I'm not dead! Its amazing. I'm just very lazy. So here's chapter 2 (and it's not even good -.-), god knows when chapter 3 will be up, but I promise you it will show the letter Sirius is raving on about. So happy reading, drop a review if you like :)**

**Chapter 2 – Freedom (Sirius' POV)**

He was out.

He was _free._

The great black dog shook itself to dry its wet coat, sniffing the air for any specific causes for alarm. There wasn't. He was alone. It trotted behind some thick bushes before changing back. A tall man emerged, ragged, skeletal, but alive.

Sirius Black stood tall, looked around once more and then bolted towards the town, ready to get back to Britain.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

It was easy to get his bearings, once he had calmed down. He had stopped on the outskirts on the town. He needed to re-learn what his plan was. He stopped to catch his breath, sitting down on a nearby boulder. Azkaban had weakened him greatly.

He stuffed his hand into his convict robes, seeking out the newspaper clipping, but found himself quite surprised when he pulled out a piece of parchment that he had honestly forgotten about. The Dementors hadn't made him forget this letter, he recalled vaguely. It was too painful to remember it. Hell, even holding it in his hand brought back the memories of anguish.

It was the only letter he had ever received in his 12 years of imprisonment, one he never dared hope to receive, and one that he wished he had never read. He had thought that the letter had been lost, stolen or destroyed, but it seemed not.

It hurt to even think of _him_. It hurt to think about James and Lily too, but to lose the one you love more than anything is worse than Azkaban. His only consolation is that _he_ once felt the same. That he felt the same love and heartbreak. Once. But now? The convict had no idea.

He took a deep breath and unfolded the letter. Not even by the end of the first sentence he had tears running down in gaunt, messy face.


End file.
